Friday, April 24, 2009

mother bearing without a sans daughter

__________________________ In this plateau the repetition of different reckonings returns. as the depressed melancholia of a moment's meditory second. Le seconde in commande I Pierre Felix Guattario having reterritorialized my conservative alibis serve you up the remainder.

Yikes and Mona had a pony tail not a pointy tail like the Beelzebub hisself!
_________________________________________________________
Who cares ?? what the campy followers of D and Guattari thought??
And who says, there is a Freud, beyond yer own excessively textualized reading of him. "said Jill, and walked off into the sunset of self-referential excess . Weary she undid her quote." Then Jill climbed to the top of Guattari and Deleuze and said : BEhold Poop On Freud. And she read: In A/O Freud the Henry Adam of psychoanalysis. And then she thought hasnt anyone ever read the Hamlet letters? or thought about the grass, and China. And she was sick to death unto "despair" and closed the book. Oh she breathed better then.

Yikes and Yokes said Jill and phone Mona on her desiring telephone
and they had -.
Okay. We're here at last, with no face and no preface either!

______________________________________

Signed the little brithers &n sasters of deleuze et guattari .
May mais c'est n'est pas vrai!

Thursday, April 23, 2009

She was Mona

Jill was in Paris one summer last week. Translating transferring her dictionary . She was airy-faery but not Shiva to her merit. Or knock knock to hysterial tocktocck. She was two in one one to two as c times two is One. She was wrocking her translaketion of Fleeing and Nofingness.
So it whence, as bootstraps to her heels merited donkeys to her ABC.

This dearies, is the Antilogos of her care. not a stroller inthe sun by Penis and Farshaped wheels round the womb of love, its vagina a blessed sight to all men. A wedding vow blue to worship her decaded generations from old Eve to the contemporary sense of promise. So was Eve, her gay blue suit, a navy terrier's colour. She was him to her soft meat, velour to her colour. With a U at every turn in her upending shape, low rider she was Mona.


------------- it was always like that. Jill to her becomings was ride around the hurtle. Her circle a tom thumb thimble not always chance to parlay its aleatory hum

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

a flace to fleer those ya meat

On Niveau: 22 1999 Orpheus the poet has sent more tele-grammaticalmythogems.One - Two - Three - FloggogosoGo._________________________________________________________________________________________________CP - when did Michel ever try to take his life? -GD - never as far as I know. As far as I know this is the idea ofAmerican academics trained in getting the most mileage out of {It was a great moment for all A SPLENDID TIME Closing Time} an idea of the Limit. THey never understood Michel. And one cannever understand a great thinker like him by reducing himto sociological bric-a-brac. By reading his ideas as apersonal critique of an Another author.(Very Rich, Very Very Rich) [Many Levels Like Tundra&Tinderwood]CP - Yes, we all know that.[ But here there are none. There are only positions] She alteredthat. MF - There is apassion for violence in my work that frightens theacademics which is why they bury me with their jargon.
__________________________
o w yer brai is pa to wheeze
_________aired to rai petitio its smog of self same come repeat


"I spit on themfrom my grave. Of ruin and pleasure. I regret nothing. I am the fiercespirit of Passion and Ruin. I have nothing to do with Constant Boundariesand Students that Obey with the reacion of the dead ones. How can ArtaudAdversity have ever put up with any of this. All these dead microspaces.FG - The Trend in Philosophy Circles is to Define a Boundary. ANd to ShutIt Down. Especially at Con-ferences which are mostly about putting a fastone on over the auditors, a Con that sends listeners drooling and shittingas they read the lies and half-truths. Most of the actual lines of Escapeare Shut down, and Covered in the Blather of Bla-Bla-Bla. Most of theseThings are Like the Local Guitar Players: Cons to get position, pleasure,and Ego-boostings. Little wanks to keep their Cocks Hot and Hard, a sortof Viagra of the the Mind. There is no Reactionary Status as bad and baseas that of the professional labeler and name caller: this is the currentmalaise all of you Suffer from: Name calling... Resentment.. Inventingmore concentric machines to Exclude.

This is the shit hole that is why Onenever hears concrete matters discussed.... I have a body without organsand every deadbeat fumiste thinks they know what it is.

Michel and FG kiss.

They lock hands. And spin the matrixial spaceof their desire whilst doing so making syntax go nuts like any moderndadapoet... whats' neW?She bows and smokes: My name is Clare Parneti I was their lover I wastheir lover None of their remainders Answer me with Anything But silence.He, FG was fucking when he died.Mona laughs at all this, and spaces outdown the zones of Eyeballs watching out of Dead Gazes and OtherLobstersSPectacles and Gazes of Passim. Mona is laughter as she dances

the walkpedal.



Since everything was fiction even Jill in her becomings she knew there wasno one there and so it was and then no one there was ficciones as axes of becomings and benedictions and so it was the chaffed wind scattered enemies in rain of flight and around and around out of the whirl wind which said can you measure the thunder as it stings the stolen graves andcoffins of philosophers?
I am the world's long gentlewoman and I am dictionary
and metre, the rust of the tongue which speaks in your sex and tongue



And and it had been part of that

Ofcourse,
Jill was Mona,
all along

________________________
yo ugo two farthest to twist its bit of papier mache yer facce is high dry geared to reaso &
its apple boun dary

not as the Socratic lover b ut the raged bu ll

____________________ these digresive are disc ursive ba ne to her mascu li necolor |
O Woman of lowo breasts